


Soft Exchanges

by ticklishivories



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, sweet and wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-11-02 12:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticklishivories/pseuds/ticklishivories
Summary: Solas and Braelith share an interest in books, and decide to trade some of their favorites.





	Soft Exchanges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hallabutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallabutter/gifts).

> Braelith belongs to hallabutter :)

“If I may interrupt…”

It’s the first noise she’s heard in hours, other than the whisper of each page as she had turned it and the occasional creak of wood in the floorboards above. The clear, deep voice startles her and Braelith slams the tome shut in a flurry as if she’d been doing something nefarious. Which she hadn’t, of course– but maybe the guilt of studying in depth on historical texts written by the Chantry left more of a sour stain on her subconscious than she thought.

“What? Oh. Hello, Solas.”

He nods, infuriatingly reserved and impassive as always. “I’ve noticed you taking an unusual interest in Thedosian-related literature. Has Cassandra swayed you as a proper Herald of Andraste at last?”

It takes her a moment to realize he’s trying to be funny, and not actively insulting. She smiles politely. “Not quite. I’ve been raised on stories that are, admittedly, heavily favoring one perspective. As…frustrating…as these texts are, I have to understand the beliefs of the people that I intend to lead.”

“Hm.”

His face remains guarded. What is he restricting himself from saying? Judgment? Praise? A tension ropes through the air and winds tightly between them, stopping her from pressing him. It’s annoying, this reluctance to cut that rope, something telling her it’s not that simple, and she wishes she could get on with it because she’d really like to continue with her reading–

“If you’re interested in perspective,” he adds after a long pause, wandering around the table to place his hand on the chair across from hers, “I have a library as well. Much more elaborate than whatever these prison-like chambers hold, I’m sure.”

Her attention perks. “Really?”

Solas nods, but it’s not the same blank expression from before. His eyes shine. “I’m quite proud of it. Collected myself, I find them more valuable than any King’s personal trove of treasures.”

“Wow.” Her fingers dig into the sharp edges of the book’s pages, a reminder to not let herself get carried away with excitement. Her voice could pierce through a canopy of trees if she didn’t keep a tight lid on things. “I might have to take a look, if you’ll allow me. For research.”

“…Of course.”

Solas smiles. He doesn’t say goodbye as he turns to leave the room, but her eyes follow the motion of his hand as it slips softly off the back of the chair.

It’s the first time she thinks she’s seen an honest light emit from Solas. Warmth, and passion at the thought of sharing knowledge– a scholar at heart.

Braelith shakes her head, and dives back into the text.

*

Solas’ words had been taken lightly, but Braelith learned after a single glance that _treasure _did not encompass the breadth of value Solas’ library contained.

She respects his wishes about certain texts being private, and offers, _“Why don’t we trade? I’ll give you a book to read of my own, and you can pick whichever you deem is worthy enough for a creature such as me.”_ It’d taken him aback slightly, and maybe she caught a crinkle of amusement in his eyes, too, but he’d relented and given her a book on ancient Dwarven relics. Braelith took it back to her quarters and consumed the fresh content greedily, staying late into the night sifting through the yellowing, but never dusty pages.

Solas cares greatly for all of his books. She sees it in the way he gazes up at his library, the gentleness and reverence with which he handles the leather bindings. Although she feels that sometimes the texts she trades are not as worthy as his ancient scrolls, without fail he always tells her that he enjoyed it; he even leaves markings in the margins on his thoughts over certain passages. Rather than comment on his audaciousness in leaving scribbles over sacred texts, Braelith leaves her own thoughts on his trades for him to discover whenever he likes.

But he surprises her again; not only does he read her comments, she thinks he might enjoy them.

“You have questions on sections that most wouldn’t pause to speculate on,” he says to her one afternoon after a long and arduous scout through the Hinterlands. They haven’t even shed their armor; Braelith leans a bit on her staff, imagining a steaming hot bath as supposed to the freezing creek scrub-downs she had to bear with while traveling. “It’s…admirable.”

“Do you always hesitate before you compliment someone? Or is it just with me?”

Solas cocks his head. “I believe that you’re the only one I’ve been complimenting as of late.”

“Oh.” Braelith stands up straighter, gripping her staff in her hand. “Um, you were saying?”

“I think you’ll appreciate this.”

He hands her a text, but Braelith’s excitement quickly transforms into confusion when he gives her a thin and obviously newly bound book. It could be the size of a journal.

“And why would I appreciate this, exactly?” she asks him, refraining from opening it and peeking inside. 

Solas simply shrugs. “I’d hoped for a change of pace; forgive me if it was presumptuous to assume you wished the same. We’ve only been exchanging nonfiction and documents. Your notes show an insight in opinion that I think would be illuminating, particularly with this.” He nods towards the book in her hand. “…And we seem to have similar taste.”

She thinks about that for some time. Some time, meaning hours, all the way into the evening, until meetings and formalities have finished and she has her precious few moments before bed to read by the candlelight in the comforts of her furs.

The first page slides open with the slip of her thumb. There only lies three small, contained paragraphs.

_The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves, _

_The full round moon and the star-laden sky, _

_And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves, _

_Had hid away earth's old and weary cry. _

_And then you came with those red mournful lips, _

_And with you came the whole of the world's tears, _

_And all the sorrows of her labouring ships, _

_And all the burden of her myriad years. _

_And now the sparrows warring in the eaves, _

_The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky, _

_And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves _

_Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry. _

It is the smallest book she’s ever read, but it takes her almost two weeks to get through it. Her mind swirls with complex thoughts drawn from the images the words give her, and she wonders over them for days.

She approaches Solas, hoping to find more answers.

“I had no idea Common could be so intricate,” Braelith says to him, the morning snow bright on the gravel path beside his lodgings. He leans against the side as he listens, thoughtful. “No matter how short the passage, I was captivated by the words. They’re so…dense. Like riddles.”

“Poetry, like riddles, can be dense,” he says, gazing fondly at the book as she hands it back to him. “But they’re meant to invoke beauty– and part of that beauty, I believe, is that personal interpretation is required.” His thumb flips through the pages, but his smile shifts to surprise. “You’ve annotated this quite a bit.”

A part of her leaps at his reaction. Surprising Solas is strangely fun– she wonders how often she’ll be able to do it. “Yes! I had so many questions. But I suppose, if I’m supposed to interpret it myself, then any answer I choose can be correct?”

He laughs lightly. The sound is like fresh snow falling upon the ground, airy and soft. “Technically speaking, yes. Did you enjoy it, regardless of your numerous questions?”

She almost misses what he says. “Y-Yes. I did.”

“This book was my awakening to the magics of language beyond the elvhen tongue,” he continues, studying it once more. “This poet pens rhymes like a musical seamstress.”

“Is that why you speak that way?”

Solas frowns. “Is something wrong with the matter in which I speak?”

Oops. “No, not at all!” Braelith recovers. She feels heat rise to her cheeks, covering her mouth partially with the back of her hand. “I was just…the way you speak is the same. It’s pretty, like music.”

He blinks. Braelith’s stomach flips. Before she can let out another apology, he sighs, looking above her head towards the mess hall.

“I’m glad you liked the book. If you so desire, meet me here after breakfast. I have many more texts of a similar caliber, and wouldn’t say no to another exchange if you are willing.”

“Yes! Yes, that’d be– fantastic...”

Her words drift away as Solas seems to decide the conversation is through and leaves, tucking the book into the lapel of his coat. It’s so abrupt that Braelith can’t react one way or another in time. So she just stares after him, dumbfounded, as he walks straight to the mess hall and disappears behind its large arching doors.

Maybe she’s mistaken; maybe the shock of his sudden leaving tricked her eyes. But…

She could’ve sworn she saw red flushing the back of his neck.


End file.
